


The Nights Make Up For It

by Ranua



Series: Gimme A Double [2]
Category: Kane (Band), Supernatural
Genre: Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-24
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 23:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/855245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranua/pseuds/Ranua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>On the road again -</i>
  <br/>
  <i>Just can't wait to get on the road again.</i>
  <br/>
  <i>The life I love is making music with my friends . . .</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Well, that was the theory anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. California

Steve hadn't been too sure coming so far north of their usual L.A. club circuit was a good idea, but Chris had been certain northern California, even with it's hippie reputation, would be starved for their kind of country music. Their first gig, opening up for a local house band, had been a huge success; the crowd had totally been into them, easing some of Steve's worries. Whatever reasons Chris threw around, he'd been right on the money this time.

Coming up with a good plan or not didn't help Steve want to forgive his best friend for messing up his night. Instead of stretching out on the motel bed he'd been looking forward too all damn day, he was sitting at the bar nursing a beer. Damn Christian for taking some little bit of fluff back to the room after their set. It left crash in the cab of the truck, Will's camper with the other guys (and if three was crowded, four was a nightmare), or sit it out at the bar hoping something would come along, as his only options for the night.

Staring deep into his beer, feeling sorry for himself, the sounds of the bar winding down lull him into accepting his fate. He's just about ready to give up and sleep in the truck when this, can not be legal, kid collapses on the stool next to him; all loose limbs and baby-face, spiky hair with an 'I know I'm all that' smirk twisting his lips.

The bartender gives the kid the fish-eye as he wanders down to their end of the bar. With a put-upon sigh the kid pulls out his wallet, sliding his i.d. across the bar.

'Fuckin' tired of this, gonna be 23 in a couple-a months,' Steve hears the kid grumble.

The bartender examines the i.d., never letting up the stink eye. It must pass muster because he slides it back to the kid with a 'What'll ya have?'

'Whatever's on tap that's not light beer,' is the answer.

'Ya know,' Steve says, amusement at the kids grumbling prompting him to speak up, 'maybe a little stubble could help out. Give you that rugged look, make you look a little older.'

'Maybe,' the kid, well, not really a kid if he's 22 to Steve's 25, gives him a through once over before turning back to the bar, taking a long pull from his beer.

***

Dean had come to Santa Clara to check into rumors of vampire activity. If it just so happened that Stanford was nearby, well it wouldn't hurt to check up on Sammy after looking into the vampire thing now would it. It had depressed him a little, seeing how good it looked like his little brother was fitting in, how happy he looked with the college life. He's not brooding on it though damnit, he's proud of his brother. Winchesters don't need anybody's help doing great things.

He gives the guy talking to him the once over, the dude looks like a reject from a surfer movie, all blond hair and tan. Or maybe a hippie, what with the layers of necklaces -beads and chains and hemp- around his neck and bracelets and rings in silver and turquoise adorning his wrists and hands. Totally harmless though in Dean's estimation. He settled himself more comfortably on the bar stool, nodding his thanks as the bartender slid him his beer. If the guy wants to babble at him, fine whatever, it's not like he has anything better to do than be distracted by some hippie surfer.

***

'So,' Steve starts talking again, he's bored and a little cranky, any distraction is a good distraction, 'did ya see the show?'

'Show?' the younger guy raises an eyebrow. 'There was a show?'

Steve gets the feeling there's a wealth of perverted meaning in the tone of voice the other man uses. 'Live music,' Steve clarifies, 'my band played the opening slot.'

He can see the other man perk up and become interested at his words. 'What kinda band?'

'Country,' Steve replies

'No shit,' the guy looks him up and down again, 'you don't look like any country band guy I ever seen.'

Laughing, Steve answers, 'Yeah, I know. You should see Christian. Now, that boy is country.'

'Whadda ya play then?' he's asked.

'I'm a guitarist.' Steve answers, motioning for another beer, they go down fast when he's got someone to talk to.

'Why're you sitting here alone then?' the man gestures wide, taking in the lack of people at the bar. 'Shouldn't you have some groupie hanging off ya?' 

'Not really in the mood,' Steve shrugs. 'I'd rather be stretched out on my way to sleep 'bout now.'

***

Taking a long drink of his beer, Dean asks, 'So, why the hell are you sitting here then?'

'Ah,' the blond laughs some more, and Dean likes that the guy laughs so much, so low and soft, like the whole world is a joke that he enjoys. 'Christian picked up some little piece of fluff and kicked me outta the room 'fore I had a chance to get comfy.' 

'Dude, that's harsh.' Dean's been sharing a room for years and he never kicked Sammy out over a girl. You went to the girls place if you wanted privacy.

'So, what are you doing here then if you weren't here for our show?' the blond asks

Dean sees no reason to make up some story; he likes to brag on Sammy, 'Visiting my brother at Stanford.'

'That's cool,' the man sips at his new beer. 'Never got the college thing myself.' 

'Yeah, me neither,' Dean agrees. 'Sammy though, he's always been so damned smart. Got a full ride.' He's practically beaming with fraternal pride.

'Damn,' the man whistles in admiration, 'that's pretty cool.'

'Yeah,' Dean agrees. They trail off into silence, sipping their beers and watching the t.v. behind the bar.

Dean's not in the mood to listen to his own thoughts though, so he starts up the conversation again. 'Why country music? You really don't look the type.'

'That would be because of Christian.' is the answer with more of that low soft laugh. 'He's my best friend and the reason I'm in a band and not in a kitchen somewhere.' 

At Dean's questioning look the guy elaborates. 'I went to culinary school actually, and was working my way up through the kitchen at a high end restaurant. That's where I met Chris, he was waiting tables while trying to get his break as an actor. We hit it off, found out we had music in common, decided to start a band, and here we are,' he spreads his hands as though to encompass the whole bar. 'Touring the west coast trying to make it big.'

'Damn,' it's Dean's turn to whistle, 'that's ballsy. California don't seem like much of a country music sort of place.'

'We do okay,' the other man shrugs. 'We're getting our name out there at least. Our shows mostly have good crowds, but I think we’re gonna have to go to Nashville or something if we want to really make it with a label and everything.'

'And you want it really big?' Dean smirks knowingly.

'I don't know,' he shrugs again. 'Chris does, I'd guess. He's hot to prove himself to his family I think. I just want to play. I like seeing people enjoy my music, get that audience feedback loop going, it's a rush like you wouldn't believe. Shit,' he laughs, 'listen to me carry on.'

'No, it's cool,' Dean waves away the apology. 'It's more interesting than my life.'

'Yeah? What do you do then? When you're not visiting your brother.'

Dean's feeling mellow and his defenses are down and it just comes out, 'I work with my Dad.' 

'And that is. . . ' the other man prompts.

'Auto garage,' he recovers, 'I'm a mechanic.'

'Oh yeah? I love cars. Don't know a thing about 'em, but I love 'em. Especially muscle cars,' he enthuses. 

'You should see my baby then,' Dean grins.

'Your baby?' the other man asks, puzzled. Dean can tell hippie surfer is actually interested in what he's got to say and if there's one thing he likes to talk about more than his little brother it's precious car.

'1967 Impala,' Dean says with pride.

'No shit,' and Dean can hear the open admiration in the blond man's voice. As he waxes eloquent over the trials of keeping a 30 plus year old car in mint condition he feels like the day wasn't a total waste. Sammy may not need him, but he can still have a good time on his own.


	2. Still in California

The tour of northern California is going great with the crowds giving them an enthusiastic reception at all their shows. There's only a couple of shows left and as much as he loves the guys in the band, after so long in each others pockets he needs a break from them. Besides, it's his turn to sleep in the camper, and after months on the road it's getting a little rank in there. It'll be easier to sleep if he has a good buzz going.

He finds a quiet bar a couple blocks down from the one they'd played. He knew it was what he wanted as soon as he walked in: a jukebox playing low in the corner, big screen on the wall with a game on, pool tables in the back and a mid-sized crowd at the bar and scattered tables.

Settling at the bar with single minded determination he orders a shot of Jack with a beer back and winces as he hears those words come outta his mouth. Damn Chris and his redneck bar orders. Oh well, he shrugs to himself, as long as it gets him the shot and beer he wants.

Knocking back the shot as soon as the bartender hands it to him, he lets out a deep sigh of satisfaction. Now, that was what he'd needed. 

'You, my friend, look like a man on a mission,' comes from the guy on the stool next to him.

'Long damn day, and my buddies are making me crazy,' he answers distractedly, taking a long swallow of his beer.

Motioning to the bartender for another shot he turns to look at the guy who spoke. 'Hey,' he blurts out in surprise. 'I know you!' 

The guy gets a wary look in his eyes and tenses up, ready for a fight, and Steve curses his mouth. That came out much more confrontational then he meant. The last thing he wanted was to start something.

'Not in a bad way,' he hastens to add. 'We met a while back, a bar in Santa Clara, I told you how I ended up in a country band and about cooking. You told me about your brother and your car.' He knows he's coming off kinda creepy, but he's got a good memory for faces in connection with random conversations, words, like music, just stick in his head.

***

'Right, the musician,' Dean relaxes. He remembers the guy. Harmless hippie was how he'd categorized him. 'Kicked outta the room for a bit of fluff again?'

'Naw,' and there's that soft huff of laughter Dean remembers, 'it's my turn for one of the bunks in the camper and after weeks on the road it's easier to sleep in there if you're too drunk to smell it.'

Dean laughs, 'Shit, I can relate, we'd take family road trips and my brother's ass could be registered as a lethal weapon.'

Joining in the laughter the blond sticks out his hand, 'Steve Carlson.'

'Dean Winchester,' they shake hands.

'So,' Steve smiles, 'wanna join me in killing off my sense of smell?'

'I got something better,' Dean grins sharp, he knows he's taking a chance, but this always goes better with a partner, maybe especially with one who doesn't know what's going on. Plus, his funds are low and he doesn't feel like finding a new bar to hustle. 'Let's shoot some pool'

They take their beers back to a pool table, put their money down, and wait their turn.

The guys running the table are pretty good, but Dean's been doing this a long time. Dean and Steve barely loose the first game, just like he planned, and get the guys to play them a rematch. Having a pretty good idea of what his new pool partner is capable of, he offers a side bet. Just to make it interesting he says.

Steve gives him a sharp look at that, but seems on board with it. By the end of the game Dean thinks Steve knows he's hustling the guys. Half way through the third game he's sure of it.

'Hey,' Steve pulls Dean aside, 'all I want is enough to get a damn motel room and not to have the locals want to bash my face in.'

'That's doable,' Dean agrees. He likes this guy. He's funny, doesn't ask questions, and he went with the hustle like he'd done it before. He also refuses his share of the take, only taking enough for a room like he'd said he wanted. 'You sure man?' Dean asks 'You worked for it too.' 

'Naw, it was fun.' Steve's laughing that soft low laugh. 'I haven't hustled pool since high school, brought back memories. Right now all I wanna do is sleep and thanks to you I can do it alone.'

The blond's good humor is infectious, leaving both of them sporting tired grins as they part ways.


	3. Oregon

Dean's with John in Port Orford, Oregon, investigating reports of what could be selkies. He's had about enough of John's attitude today and he wants, no needs, a drink. Down the block from their seaside motel is a rundown place, practically in the water it leans so far out on it's pilings, with a full parking lot and a jukebox he can hear from the sidewalk. Walking in he scans the bar, checking the layout and crowd mood, at a table wedged back by a seriously rickety stage he spots a familiar face. 

He's torn between not having to come up with a story to cover why he's in Oregon, and hanging out with someone who's company he knows he'll enjoy. He decides the hell with it, Steve had been so laid back the other times they'd talked and it'd been months, there was no telling if the guy remembered him anyway. Besides, any man who went along with hustling pool, no questions asked, like he'd done it a million times before wasn't gonna pry if he didn't volunteer why he was in the area.

Mind made up, he walks over to the table, taps Steve on the shoulder, and when the blond turns to look he says, 'Hey! I know you!'

'Dean!' Steve stands and pulls Dean into a hug, slapping him on the back. 'How ya doing man?'

'I'm good, good,' he answers, mood already lifting from the easy welcome. Looking at the table of people he continues, 'Did I miss the show?'

'Hell, yeah, asshole,' Steve grins. 'Let me introduce you to the guys in the band,' pointing to each in turn he names them off, 'Will plays bass, Jason's our other guitarist and Ryan's on drums. Guys, this is Dean.'

The guys nod their greetings with a friendly 'Hey man' as Dean settles into the space they make for him at the table. Dean nods back greetings, gratefully taking the beer Steve pours him from the pitcher on the table.

'You sure you don't wanna come Steve?' The guy with the wild mane of hair continues the conversation Dean's arrival had interrupted.

'Naw,' Steve shakes his head, draining his own glass. 'It's my turn in a room and I'm damn well gonna enjoy it!

Laughing the other three drain their glasses getting ready to leave.

Jason turns to Dean, 'You interested Dean?'

'In what?' Dean asks back.

'Chris found a party at some place on the beach, wanna come?' Ryan answers.

Dean shrugs, looking at Steve. 

'Go on man, it's no skin off my nose, I'm probably gonna make it an early night.' Steve tells him.

'Naw,' Dean answers the guys, 'I think I'll stay here and catch up with Steve.'

'Hey,' Steve calls out as the guys leave, 'tell Chris not to bring that skank he hooked up with back to the room. I ain't leaving and he sure as shit ain't banging her there with me sleeping in the next bed.'

Waving off Steve's bitching with laughter, the three men take off.

'You didn't have to stay on my account,' Steve says.

'It's no biggie,' Dean replies. 'I'm not in the mood for noise and drunks. So, you shoot darts, or only hustle pool?'

Steve laughs and they move their drinks to a little table in the back by the dart boards. Dean even lets Steve win a couple of games.

Time passes quickly and before they know it it's last call. 'Hey,' Steve says, 'I don't know about you, but I'm not ready to call it a night. Let's grab a bottle, I got a room at that place down the block.'

'Sounds good to me,' Dean agrees. He's having too good a time hanging out and shooting the shit to want to go back to the room he's sharing with John. He's sure his dad's mood hasn't improved in the hours he's been gone anyway.

They grab a bottle and a six pack and head down the block. The door's barely closed behind them before Steve is kicking off his shoes and flopping on the bed with a guitar in his hands. Gesturing to the blond's now bare feet Dean laughs, 'I knew you were some kinda dirty hippie man. Too much hemp and too few shoes.'

Steve flips him a lazy bird, settling in more comfortably against the headboard, idly strumming the guitar.

With a laugh, Dean makes himself comfortable, slouched down in a chair from the table, feet propped on the bed, beer and whiskey withing easy reach of both of them on the night stand.

'You actually play that thing, or is it a prop to pick up chicks?' Dean asks cheekily, passing over an unopened beer.

'Oh, it's on little man,' Steve laughs. He strums a couple of chords, checking the tuning, and plays the opening bars of Stairway to Heaven.

Laughing hard, Dean nearly slides out of his chair. 'Fine, fine, you can play.'

'What about you?' Steve asks. 'You can hustle pool and throw darts, can you play the guitar too?'

'Nope, never had the chance to learn,' Dean answers.

Getting up Steve gets out another of his guitars handing it off to Dean. 

'How many of these do you have?' Dean asks with a laugh.

'With me or all together?' Steve grins, mellow and happy.

Laughing more Dean shakes his head at his friends antics. 

Noodling around with the guitars, Steve shows Dean a couple of chords and how to pick out a melody. 'Now you know enough to pick-up some little groupies of your own.' He tells him.

The six pack and half the bottle of Jack later they've put up the guitars and are leaning against the headboard, side by side, handing the bottle back and forth. They share a rambling conversation, alcohol making them honest and the new friendship they feel making them share things they normally wouldn't.

'. . . I couldn't believe it when my dad told Sam not to come back if he left. Family is the most important thing. If he can tell Sammy to leave and not come back, what's he gonna do if I piss him off . . .'

'. . . my friendship with Chris is the best and most important relationship I've ever had in my life. I never want to have to choose between him and a lover . . .'

'. . . he doesn’t know where the money comes from but I've sent Sammy every penny I ever managed to save . . .'

'. . . I write music I never show the guys in the band, especially not Chris. I wanna be like Leon Russell man . . .'

'I want more out of life than I've got and I'm afraid I'm never going to get it.'

The rising sun is starting to lighten the curtains when Dean downs the last swallow from the bottle. Steve had passed out next to him mid-word and he figured now was as good a time as any to get back to his room. Rolling to the edge of the bed he contemplates the distance to the floor. It's much too far he decides. The last thought he has before consciousness flees is now his dad is really gonna be pissy.


	4. Interlude

With Sammy at Stanford, Dean feels compelled to stay near the west coast; only occasionally venturing eastward. John's never said anything, but Dean's sure his dad knows why he passes on so many jobs that would take him too far from California for an extended time. How can he look after his brother if he's half a continent away?

Another perk of staying on the west coast is his friendship with Steve. He's taken to scanning the local paper's for more than abnormal events and if he sees Kane is playing anywhere nearby he tries to stop in to have a drink with Steve. He still hasn't managed to catch a show though, and it's become a running joke between them.

No matter where he turns up, Steve never questions why he's there. Just greets him with a grin, happy to see him. Dean can't remember what he may have said about his life that night in Oregon, but he suspects Steve may think he's some kind of criminal.

***

Steve is of the opinion things are going pretty damn good with the band, but he knows Chris wants something bigger. They've been touring on and off, mostly on, for what seems like forever. They've developed a solid following all along the west coast, hell, they even have a regular gig at the Viper Room in L.A.. Life is good, if tiring.

His random meetings with Dean have become one of the highlights of being out on the road more than home. He loves the crowds and the applause and people singing their songs along with them will never stop being cool, but hanging out with Dean has become a spot of normalcy in the craziness of life on tour.

He's never asked Dean why, or how he turns up in so many different towns and clubs, just greets him with a grin, happy to see him. He's afraid if he did anything that made Dean confirm his theory of the younger man being some kind of criminal that would be the last time Steve would see him. He's not ashamed to admit he's too selfish of their friendship to care if Dean is breaking the law.


	5. Tennessee

One more minuet at the rental the band was splitting would drive him to do something he'd regret, so Steve grabs the keys to Christian's pick-up, mumbles and waves some sort of explanation and hits the highway. Once outside the lights of the city, the rhythm of the road under the wheels is exactly the sound his soul'd been craving.

Unfortunately, even that isn't enough to drag his thoughts away from the problem of why the hell he's in Nashville in the first place. It all comes down to Christian Fucking Kane of course, like most of his life does, more fool him. The record labels had come calling, so they'd packed it up and moved east. Turned out the labels were only interested in Chris, the rest of the band replaceable and interchangeable in the eyes of the soulless suits.

It's all bullshit as far as Steve's concerned. Kane is him and Christian and that is all there is too it. No record company and their PR people and image consultants are going to break them up if he has anything to say about it, and damn does he have plenty. And fuck Chris too, for chasing fame like it's the only way to be happy. It doesn't help that Chris' new flavor of the week, Whitney, is a singer too. The PR guys are practically panting over what a perfect duo they would make.

Getting too drunk to remember how to drive sounds pretty damn good and the sight of a skeevey motel and it's attached bar are like a message from God. It's a weeknight and only a handful of diehard drinkers are scattered through the interior. He spots the back of a familiar dirty blond head holding down the end of the bar. As he approaches, he catches the man's reflection in the bar mirror, confirming his identity.

'Dean, hey man, what're you doing out here?' Surprise animates his tired voice.

***

The only reason Dean had come as far east as Tennessee to deal with a nest of kobalds for his dad was because John was working a case in California. He didn't like to leave his brother alone on the coast. Even if Sam never knew, Dean knew Sam was being watched over.

Unfortunately he hadn't heard from his dad in over a week. No bodies matching John's description had turned up in the area the older man was hunting and none of their distress signals had been tripped. Anything that could disappear John Winchester without a peep wasn't anything Dean wanted to tackle alone. He didn't want to do it, but he was afraid he was gonna have to ask Sammy for help.

At the sound of his name in a familiar voice Dean swivels on his stool, 'Steve,' he dredges up a smile, 'good to see you.'

Settling next to his friend at the bar Steve waves to the bartender, 'Whiskey, neat,' he orders. 'Damn man, I haven't seen you in awhile. What brings you so far east?'

Dean shrugs, 'Work ya know. What about you? Thought you were a west coast boy.'

It's Steve's turn to shrug, 'Nashville called.'

A genuine smile breaks across Dean's features, 'Well alright then,' he slaps his friend on the shoulder, 'we should celebrate.'

'Nuthin' to celebrate man.' Steve knocks back his drink, waving for another, 'Nashville may have called, but they only want Chris to answer.'

'Damn, that sucks out loud man.' Dean waves his glass at the bartender, 'Even more reason to drink.'

'How's your brother doing? He still at school?' Steve asks, trying to steer the conversation away from problems he's tired of dealing with.

Dean grimaces, sipping is new drink, 'He's doing great. Gonna be taking his LSAT's soon.'

'You don't look too happy,' Steve observes.

With a tired sigh, Dean props his chin on a fist, 'I am happy for him, but our dad's messing shit up.'

'Well, if that ain't a reason to drink I don't know one,' Steve raises his glass in a toast.

A couple of shots turns into just leave the bottle. They don't talk much, both too lost in their own misery. By last call the bartender is giving them concerned looks, they'd managed to finish off two bottles between them.

Dean waves off the offer of a cab, grabbing Steve's arm and steering him toward the door. 'Don' worry, ain' no one driving,' he tells the bartender.

Leaning heavily on each other they mange a drunken sway to Dean's room. Key fumbling in the lock, they nearly fall over as the door pops open.

'You are a good friend,' Steve enunciates carefully, patting Dean's shoulder as he maneuvers to the unused bed.

'So'r you man,' Dean mumbles, slumped on the edge of his bed, trying to work off his boots. Giving it up as a lost cause he flops back, passing out to the sounds of Steve's soft snoring.


	6. Oklahoma

It's loud and crowded in the bar, proof they have what it takes to rock a crowd. They'd kicked ass the first set, riding the high of a rowdy crowd into their break. Steve was working his way through the crowd to the bar to grab a drink, stopping to shake hands and accept praise along the way when he spots a familiar figure leaning back against the bar, grinning at his approach.

'Shit man!' He grabs Dean in a back-slapping hug, he's high on the adrenaline of the show and it's been nearly a year since he's seen his friend. 'it's been forever! You catch the show?'

'Yeah man, you guys are pretty good for a country band,' Dean smirks.

'Country with a little gasoline asshole,' Steve smirks back, smacking Dean's shoulder. 'So, what're you doing here?'

'Came to see you play dude.' Dean says, 'duh' audible in his voice.

'You never come to a show man, you're allergic to country music,' Steve laughs.

'Shit,' Dean drawls, 'saw your name on the marquee and had to stop man, it's been way too long.'

'Well damn, it's good to see you. You're looking good, how's life treating you? How's your brother? He a big shot lawyer yet?' Steve peppers Dean with rapid fire questions.

'Naw,' Dean laughs at Steve's enthusiasm. It's been way too long since he's seen the man and he'd missed his friend. 'Shit happened ya know. He's actually in a booth in the back.' Dean's grin turns evil, 'bout blew his little emo-music listening mind, me dragging him in here with a country band playing. Speaking of, what happened with Nashville?'

Steve's grin got even bigger, 'Nashville may have only wanted Chris, but he told 'em it was alla Kane or nuthin'. Shocked the shit outta me. I thought he wanted the fame more than anything.'

'Well hell,' Dean shakes his head, 'that is a damn good friend.'

'Yep,' Steve's smile turned fond. 'Anyway, we managed to get signed with an indy country label. Got a cd coming out soon and everything.'

'Hot damn!' Dean punches him in the shoulder, 'Got me a big time star for a friend now! Buy me a shot to celebrate!'

Steve laughs at Dean, 'Dude, big time star ain't happening. Still gotta share a damned motel room when we're on the road.' Taking a long drink of the beer the bartender hands him, he asks, 'You staying for the second set?'

'I'd like to man, but I can see the princess is beckoning,' Dean gestures to where he sees Sam making his way through the crowded bar toward him. He's making what Dean privately refers to as bitch-face number 3 – 'let's go'. He shakes his head, 'I'm sorry, I gotta take off, got a thing ya know.'

Turning Steve looks in the direction of Dean gesture. 'Damn, you weren't kidding 'bout how tall he is,' he laughs. 'We're playing here again tomorrow night, I'll put you on the list, get you in free.'

'Dude,' Dean grin turns evil at the thought, 'that would be epic. We'll be here, put us both down on the list. That'll freak him out.'

Steve laughs, 'Alright man, you'd better show up!'

'Wouldn't miss it.' Thunking his empty glass on the bar Dean pulls Steve into a quick hug, 'See ya tomorrow night then,' he calls as he turns to take off.

Steve smiles to himself watching Dean move smoothly through the crowd. He can see the annoyed look on Sam's face from his spot at the bar and it makes him laugh. The hand waving and eyebrows of doom are exactly as Dean'd described years ago. He can't wait to see the younger man's reaction at the door tomorrow night. He makes a note to himself to keep an eye on the door so he won't miss it.

'Who the hell was that?' a voice growls out from behind Steve, making him jump.

'Shit, Chris, don't sneak up on me,' he says turning round.

Chris is making his own version of bitch-face at Steve, 'M not sneaking. Who was that?'

Chris' tone combined with his expression piss Steve off just enough to make him want to mess with the other man. 'Just some guy, told me how great he thought I was tonight. He said he'd be at the show tomorrow. Got his phone number.'

The sour look on Chris' face is worth the lie. 'Well come on,' Chris growls, 'I wanna move the monitors, I keep getting feedback.'

Suppressing a smirk at Chris' discomfort Steve follows him back to the stage.


	7. Oklahoma, the next night

Chris is working the crowd between sets when he sees the guy from last night. He's at the bar with a damn tall dude he remembers seeing in the crowd the night before as well. 

He knows he was an ass to Steve over the guy last night, and he'd rather not examine why. He doesn't swing that way like Steve can, but that doesn't mean he wants anyone messing with his best friend.

Deciding to take the bull by the horns and play nice he approaches the pair. 'You boys big fans or something? I swear I seen y’all last night.'

Dean's lip curls in a smirk designed to wind people up, he recognizes the guy from on stage and figures this must be the elusive Chris that Steve has been complaining about for the length of their friendship. 'Nope,' he answers.

'I'm sure I remember you,' Chris points at Sam, 'You're too damn big to forget.'

Sam blushes and stutters as Dean laughs. The night is turning out great for tweaking Sam's chain, first the thing at the door with Sam's incredulous looks at their being on the guest list and now this.

Approaching the trio, Steve ignores Chris completely, pulling Dean into a back-slapping hug, 'Glad you made it man.'

'Hell yeah, wouldn't miss it.' Dean returns the hug with an enthusiasm designed to tweak his brother; winding up the scowling redneck in their midst is just a bonus. 'You seriously rocked up there.'

Dean's smirk deepens in satisfaction at the confused look on Sam's face and the annoyed look on Chris'.

'I thought you said you'd never seen us before?' Chris accuses. 'How do you know Steve?'

'I said I'm not a big fan.' Dean points out, voice pitched deliberately to wind Chris up.

Chris' face twists in a sour scowl at the frown Steve shoots his way, but he does change his mind 'bout what he was gonna say. 'How long you known Steve for then?' Chris asks, trying for a civil tone, aware of the disapproval Steve is projecting his way.

'It's been what, three years?' Dean asks Steve.

'Something like that,' Steve agrees. 'We meet in bay area I think. Before we started touring up into Oregon and Washington anyway.' He directs his words toward Sam, ignoring Chris for the moment. If he got upset every time Chris did he'd have an ulcer. Besides, over the years he's found ignoring the man helped to diffuse Chris' 'situations' faster. The man did crave an audience.

'That's right,' Dean continues, falling into Steve's rhythm as easily as they've ever fallen into the rhythm of hustling pool or darts. 'Sam was still at Stanford.'

'Yeah,' Steve says with a smile. 'Speaking of, you ever gonna introduce me to your brother?'

'Seems like he doesn't need to,' Sam interrupts. 'You already know who I am,' he shoots a bitchy look Dean's way. 'And I have no clue who you are.'

Dean makes a sweeping gesture of introduction, 'Sam, this is my good buddy Steve Carlson, the rock star.'

'Country star, dumb-ass,' Steve smiles.

'Sorry, country music big shot,' Dean apologizes with mock sincerity. 'Steve, this is my little brother Sammy Winchester.'

'Sam,' Sam automatically corrects his brother.

'Good to meet ya,' Steve holds out his hand in a polite handshake. 

Sam, bemused at the by-play smiles at the blonde, returning the handshake, 'Nice to meet you too.'

'And this,' Steve says, gesturing to the man across from him, 'is Christian Kane, bane of my existence, singer in my band.'

'Hey, it's my band,' Chris grumbles, but shakes hands all 'round. He's calmed down, but still, he doesn't like this, Steve is his friend damn it. Who the hell is this guy?

'Dean, gimme a hand with the beer and shots would ya,' Steve asks. Turning, he motions to Chris, 'You and Sam grab a table, we got a break and I wanna drink.'

With a sarcastic salute Chris turns to work his way through the crowd to the tables in the back. After shooting an exasperated look his brothers way Sam follows.

'So,' Dean says, 'that's Chris huh?'

'Yep,' says Steve, ordering a couple of pitchers of beer and a tray of shots from the bartender, 'the one and only.'

'Kinda a dick ain't he,' Dean observes.

'Yeah, but only when he thinks I'm trying to pick up a guy.' Steve's got a fond smile on his face. 

'Seriously?' Dean asks, 'ain't that a little odd?' 

'Yep, it drives him nuts, but he'll never admit it.' Steve's smile turns evil, 'I know it's wrong, but when the man pisses me off I like to let him think every guy I talk too is a potential one night stand.'

'Dude,' Dean grins, 'that is fucked up.'

'Welcome to my life,' Steve says with a matching grin.

Drinks in hand they work their way back to Chris and Sam. The two seem to be getting along as well as two strangers can.

Settling in at the table Steve and Dean get glasses passed out and beer poured. Chris raises his traditional first shot to the band, and they all knock back their drinks with a hearty 'here, here'. Dean follows that up with a toast to meeting up with old friends, Sam adding in meeting new friends and they knock back the shot with a laugh.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand Chris asks, 'Whadda you boys do then?'

Steve, enjoying winding Chris up, jumps in with an answer before Dean or Sam can spin a story, 'They're criminals dumb-ass, con-men and pool hustlers.'

Sam gets a pained look on his face as Dean and Steve crack-up laughing. Chris scowls at Steve, kicking him under the table. 'Stop being a fuckin' dick dude,' he growls.

'Sorry, sorry,' Steve laughs, 'you had it coming for being a dick last night.'

'Fine,' Chris grumps, 'truce.'

'Truce,' Steve agrees.

Turning to Dean, Chris asks, 'How is it we never meet then?'

'Just lucky I guess,' Dean replies with a shrug.

'If you weren't off banging every groupie that gave you the eye you'da meet long ago.' Steve points out.

Steve's tone is light, but Chris can hear a thread of anger and hurt under it. As usual at a loss as to why, all he can do is play along with the teasing. 'You're just jealous that even playing for both teams you ain't getting it as regular as me,' he grins.

'Yeah, that's got to be it.' Steve grins back with a tip of his glass in a toast. 'Sorry man,' Steve gives Sam an apologetic look, working to lighten his mood, 'he brings out the best in me, what can I say.'

Sam just grins back, shaking his head. It's a little surreal, seeing this side of his brother. He can't remember ever hanging out with people Dean considered friends outside of other hunters. He thinks he'd like to get to know this version of the man that's his brother.

'So, how did you meet Steve then?' Chris asks, trying a different tack to get information about this stranger that Steve considers a friend.

Dean shrugs and answers, 'I was trying to relax with a drink when this surfer-movie reject and his big ego wanted to know if I'd seen him play.' 

Steve swats at his friend in mock anger, 'Hey now, who's got the big ego, mister pool shark'

'Damn right,' Dean grins. He turns to Chris, continuing. 'Anyway, neither of us had anything better to do than hang out and shoot the shit. We been running into each other on and off for years now. Turns out his big ego is warranted. The boy can play.'

'Well thank you,' Steve says with a grin that turns to a leer, 'You're not so bad yourself.' 

Dean leers right back with a predatory look on his face.

Sam sputters into his beer, he can feel his eyes widen in surprise. He has never seen Dean flirt with a guy before and it's further altering his perception of his brother.

'What?' Dean glares at his brother, 'can't a man have a good time with his buddies?'

Sam stutters out nonsense, hiding behind his beer and Dean's glare morphs to a grin at his little brother's discomfort. It is always a thrill to rile up Sammy. 

Leaning over Sam's way Chris says in a conspiratorial whisper, 'Welcome to my hell. Swear to God that man,' he gestures at Steve, 'can't not make eyes at every dude he sees.'

'Hey! I take offense at that,' Steve says in mock anger, 'who is it runs off with every girl who looks his way?'

'That'd be me,' Chris grins unrepentant. 'You grab your share of girls too, ya greedy bastard.'

'A toast to Steve, the degenerate bastard,' Dean raises his glass and the other two follow suit, Sam with an amused look and Chris with an evil grin.

'Hey now,' Steve sputters, embarrassment coloring his cheeks, smacking shoulders and kicking shins. 

'What are you 8? Kicking us under the table' Chris grumbles good naturedly.

'Drink up boys,' the sound guy calls out as he passes by their table on the way to his booth, 'ya gotta be back on in like 5.'

Chris and Steve knock back their shots in unison. 'Hang around, we'll party after the show, Chris knows all the easiest groupies,' Steve says in an easy teasing tone as he stands.

'Yeah Sammy,' Dean elbows his brother in the side, 'maybe you'll get lucky.'

'Yeah, lucky not ta get herpes!' Steve calls with a hoot of laughter.

'Hey, that was just the one time' Chris defends himself with a glare. 

With a tumble of laughter the guys haul themselves back on stage.


End file.
